


Kiss an Angel Good Morning

by subversivegrrl



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 03:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2373533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subversivegrrl/pseuds/subversivegrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl and Michonne are out hunting the Governor (again), and Daryl reconnects with some old familiar music that makes him think about what's waiting for him when he gets back home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss an Angel Good Morning

“‘Chonne.” Daryl steered the Tucson in behind the gas station and shut it off. “Hey. Wake up.”

Michonne stirred in the passenger seat, where she’d been slumped for the past forty miles or so. “We home?”

"Nah. Storm’s coming in too fast, gonna sit it out here. Place still looks tight enough." He stepped out of the truck and stretched, releasing the kinks in his back from sitting still too long. The rising wind swirled dusty leaves around his boots and blew his hair into his eyes.

They made a cursory sweep around the building before making their way inside, but the barricade against the back door was intact from their last stopover, and the small supply of water and basic rations was exactly as they’d left it. It wasn’t an ideal refuge, but the other doors were strong, and two points of exit doubled their chances for a safe getaway if they needed one. It was as secure a bunker as they were likely to get.

"Looks like we got beans… uh, some other kind of beans… and beef-a-roni. What’s your pleasure?" Michonne sucked her teeth and sighed, pointing to the can of ersatz Italian. 

Daryl’s face fell. "Really? Thought you said that stuff tasted like dog food." He was sort of fond of it, himself.

"Yeah, but I’m sick of beans," Michonne said. "Shoot you for it." He went for rock, she went with paper (because she knew him by now, and he usually went for rock first time out), and Daryl spit on the floor in disgust.

"Two outta three," he said.

"How about we split it?" It was the compromise they almost always reached after some negotiation, but she was too damned tired of the road to drag it out this time.

They cracked one of the cans of beans while they were at it. Food was food, after all.

The rain really started to come down right around the time they were polishing off the dregs in the cans, and that was about it for the daylight, even though it should have been an hour or more yet until sunset. Daryl was still itchy from having been cooped up in the truck all day, and he poked aimlessly around on the shelves while he could still see a bit. He found a couple of stroke books behind the cash register and automatically started to stick them down the front of his pants so he wouldn’t have to show Michonne, but then he figured, hell, they were both adults, and he tucked them under his arm and kept going.

A shoebox under the counter held a bunch of random junk, rubber bands and loose batteries and a few CDs. He pocketed the batteries - probably long since gone dead, maybe that’s why they were just tossed in there in the first place, but it didn’t hurt to try them out - and flipped through the disks. He hooted softly to himself over the copy of AC/DC’s _Back in Black_ \- been too long since he’d heard that one - but it was the next one that sent a cold chill up his spine.

It was one of those K-Mart cash register $5.99 specials, the kind of thing where someone was trying to cash in by packaging a bunch of old hits together. Not much spent on the frills, just a drawing of a man in a cowboy hat playing a guitar on the front and a list of the songs on the back. The sort of songs he’d grown up listening to. His momma’s music.

He’d come in from playing and she’d be sitting there at the kitchen table, her hair uncombed, last night’s mascara smeared beneath her eyes, a cigarette burning in the ashtray, with Lynn Anderson singing about how _you better look before you leap, still waters run deep, and there won’t always be someone there to pull you out._ Guess Momma knew a thing or two about being in too deep.

At the time, though, he hadn’t thought about any of that - he was just glad to see her up and about. Too many days he had to go wake her up, or figure out what he could eat for lunch all by himself. If she was awake and not too hung over she’d be sweet to him, maybe even make cookies in the afternoon. Sometimes she’d pat her lap and say, “com’ere, angel, give your momma some sugar,” and he’d hop up and lean up against her while she sang along with the radio, “ _’Kiss an angel good morning, and let her know you think about her when you’re gone.’_ Your daddy would have a fit if he knew we been listening to this one.” And she’d smooch him on the back of the head and squeeze him tight. It was the closest thing to normal he remembered ever feeling back then.

Daryl started to toss the disk back into the box, but he stopped himself and stuck it in his jacket pocket with the other one. Just because he wasn’t a big fan of country didn’t mean someone else wasn’t. Michonne’s taste ran more to some weird kind of jazz - they hadn’t found any of it yet, but she wasn’t shy about be-bopping along while she drove. He wasn’t sure if she was actually trying to sing some of it, or if she was just making up tunes as she went. They were both pretty resigned to putting up with whatever it took to pass the time.

The road home always seemed to take longer for some reason. Thoughts of familiar spaces and the people waiting for them - the miles stretched out in front of them, teasing them with how close they were and the distance yet to be covered. Delays like this, with the prison - home - almost within reach, were the worst part.

Michonne offered to take the first watch, and Daryl didn’t argue. Sleep was the best way to make the hours disappear, and he settled himself down on his bedroll and closed his eyes.

Sometime later Michonne bumped his foot with her boot and said, “Rise and shine, Dixon.” He was instantly awake, although it took a few seconds to remember where they were.

The moonlight filtered in through the windows in the garage bay. “Rain stopped,” he said.

"Mm-hm," Michonne said. "Clear night." She was leaning against the counter, looking out into the darkness. "Still an hour or so ‘til dawn."

"Shit, ‘Chonne, you shoulda woken me sooner."

"No reason to. Nothing happening. Figured you could use the rest." She stretched and bent low, putting her palms flat against the floor, and straightened, shaking her dreads back from her face. "I’m feeling pretty good, considering. Wondered how you might feel about just getting on the road now."

 _An A-plus idea_ was how he felt, now that he thought about it, and he bundled up his bedroll, grabbed his bow and tossed Michonne the keys.

In the truck he fumbled the CDs out of his pocket and reached to put one in. “Driver picks the music,” Michonne said, eyeing the disk in his hand.

"Just this one song. Then you can listen to whatever you want." That Charley Pride tune had been in the back of his mind ever since he’d found the CD.

_You’ve got to_  
_Kiss an angel good morning_  
_And let her know you think about her_  
_When you’re gone_  
_Kiss an angel good morning_  
_And love her like the devil_  
_When you get back home_

Afterward it turned out Michonne didn’t mind AC/DC one bit, and they just left it on repeat for the rest of the trip.

About a mile out she gave the horn a double tap to alert whoever was in the tower, and the gates opened smoothly as they pulled up.

"Still standing," Daryl said, slapping Rick on the back.

"Everybody in one piece. What’s it look like out there?"

"Same as always." Daryl wished the news could be different, just like he did every time, but it was what it was. They’d come back with some more gas in the cans, but that was about all they had to show for the trip. He was beginning to wonder if the hunt was worth the time and effort.

People were still sleeping as he went up to his cell and ducked under the sheet. He dropped the crossbow in the corner and shucked off his boots before crawling into the bunk, trying not to disturb Carol as he slipped in behind her. She groaned and turned over, opening her eyes as he fit himself up against her.

"You’re back," she sighed. "Everything okay?"

"Is now," he said, and she smiled as he bent to kiss her.

All of the tension melted out of him as he slowly explored her mouth, and her arms twined around his neck, playing with the strands of hair at his nape.

"Miss me?" she asked.

"Like crazy," he said, dipping his head to lick her collarbone. "Sorry I woke you, but a man told me I should do this as soon as I got home. You gotta get up any time soon?"

"I think I can be a little late, if you have some good ideas about keeping me busy."

"Mm-hm, I do at that," he said, and pulled her on top of him.


End file.
